Foreign
by firstlightofdawn
Summary: "Who are you?"-"I can't say."-"Why not?"-"Because I wouldn't know what to tell you."
1. Intruding

**A/N: Brief summary: After the world ends, the government isn't around to hide their secrets. Some secrets couldn't hide if they wanted to. Some secrets hide all too much. Other secrets lie around in wait, silently anticipating the day they can break their shell and be open to the world. In my case, to a family. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own in any way The Walking Dead, Rick Grimes, Daryl** **Dixon **(as much as I may want to),** or any of the characters you are familiar with and native to the story. I do own my main character **(who's name is yet to be disclosed), **her storyline, the idea for her story line, and all other characters that are not from the original TV show. **

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It was cold. Far too cold for Georgia. But then it was unbearably hot. So hot I was sure I could cook an egg on my forehead. A moment later it was freezing. Then right back to sweltering. One thing I've learned is that if you're close to death already, the weather doesn't matter. The sun was still high in the sky but waves of chills relentlessly swept over me, goose bumps on my skin as numerous as the dead. By this time it was impossible for me to tell if it was my body responding to the weather or to the gaping wound in my side.

I was caught in periodic unconscious spells. Black would consume my mind for a few seconds and all would be blank, no pain, no sight, no smell. But those brief moments were short lived and each time I was harshly yanked back into painful reality. I gasped for precious air, each step like having a knife thrust into my side. It could've been worse. I could be dead. _I'll be okay. I was trained for these scenarios. _I went through the steps in my head.

_Step one: Control the bleeding. _

I limped over to a fallen log lying on a river bed not too far away. Gingerly, I sat on the surface of the wood, cringing as it came into contact with my side. I stretched my right leg away from the log to keep from causing more pain than was necessary. Tugging the hem of my shirt upwards and away from the wound, I hissed, biting into my collar. I unbuttoned my pants and inhaled, readying myself for the wave of pain I was about to endure. I just wanted to get this over with. I yanked the top of my pants down to my thigh, the fabric irritating the wound as it passed over. I squeezed my eyes shut. It wasn't the nastiest of scrapes. If the aim had been even slightly more angled to the left, I would have a bullet imbedded into my leg and my day would've probably won an award for being the shittiest.

I pushed my index and middle finger into the muscle where my torso met my right leg. The 'bikini line' they had told me.

_Step two: Clean the wound_

If it had been a normal day, before the whole world had gone to shit, I would've rejoiced at sight of the river. Water to drink and water to clean bullet holes. Today however, my life seemed to be taking a turn for the worst.

I grit my teeth and pulled out my canteen of drinking water. Time was spent purifying this water for the times I needed refreshment. I knew I would have to use it for cleaning wounds anyway, but it hurt all the more now that it was necessary. I wasn't going to risk getting infected from dirty water just so I could save myself one day to die the next.

I knew I already was, in a way, but I wasn't quite ready to push my luck.

A rustling from behind startled me and I jerked my head up, knife in hand. A goon was stumbling towards me, idiotically groaning and gnashing its teeth. I squinted, stars appearing in front of my eyes. Of all times, this was not a good one to be attacked for my innards. Wincing as I attempted to balance on my left leg, I grabbed hold of its chest and imbedded my knife into its skull. Pushing it into the river, I thumped back onto the log with a huff. I bit back a groan as I struggled to wet a rag, my hands trembling and more water spilling out of the canteen than I needed. I clamped the rag onto my side and hissed. It stung like a bitch, but I had to get this done.

_Step Three: Bandage the wound_

Holding the rag with my left hand I rummaged through my backpack with my right. I was running low on bandages so I had to wisely use what I had left. I shifted a bit to help myself get a good hold on the bandage, and then wrapped it around my other side. Gauze tape was the cherry on the ice cream, holding everything in place. Shelter was the first thing on my mind. There was no way I could survive the night with a limp and limited water supply.

After looking around for signs of life, or anything with the absence of, I carefully stood up. Almost immediately, pain shot through my side like fire and I once again bit my tongue to keep from crying out. Attracting attention to myself in my current state was like camping with food in your tent: guaranteed suicide.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and stepped gingerly ahead. Again came the expected result, pain. I winced each step I took, trying to come up with anything to keep my mind away. I busied myself with an eye out for goons and signs of possible shelter. I faintly remembered Philip mentioning a prison and hostile forces in the same sentence. Shelter was the only thing that mattered to me at this moment, hopefully I could find it before nightfall and hopefully the people staying there, if there happened to be any, would be docile enough to let me stay until I was healed.

If I had to fight them for it, fine, I've done worse.

A goon groaned in front of me and although I kept walking, I waited for it to approach me. I didn't have enough energy to waste chasing after stragglers. Its decaying fingers reached out to grab a hold of my clothes, but I pushed it into a tree and quickly ended its life. Or whatever was left of it, if it was considered life at all. If my senses weren't too preoccupied with the searing pain in my right torso they would've elaborated on the hideous stench that arose from the corpse. Instead, I was too exhausted to pay attention to the smell and wearily continued forward.

Stars sparkled in the edges of my vision and I struggled to continue in a straight line. Evening was quickly coming upon the world and I still had no plan of temporary refuge. I was betting my life on this prison. The chances of me surviving this night with no food and a bleeding abdomen were as slim as a goon politely asking to sit down for tea.

I'll admit, that was an exaggeration, but at this moment I couldn't care. I felt like I had been sat on by a sumo wrestler and my legs lit aflame. And generously tossed into a clothes dryer for a few rounds.

My stomach began to turn in knots and my eyesight began to go hazy. Bile rose in my throat and I stumbled along until my arm hit a tree. Balancing myself against its sturdy trunk, I leaned forward to place my other hand on my knee. The bullet wound screamed at the sudden application of pressure, but I ignored it. My eyesight was just beginning to return when an unsettling sensation traveled from my gut to my throat and the next thing I knew I was emptying the contents of my stomach onto the ground in front of me. I coughed and sputtered and the curses that began to spill out of my mouth turned into gurgling as my belly decided to go for another round.

As soon as my body had relieved itself and I wiped away the spittle at the edge of my mouth, I breathed heavily and leaned against the tree trunk. How I wished I could just lie down in the leaves and fall asleep right then and there, but to do that would be to sign the contract for your imminent death.

Thoroughly exhausted, I resumed my trek through the forest, the ever falling night threatening to close any minute. A goon groaned from somewhere behind me, but I didn't turn to look for it. Instead, I briskly picked up my pace despite the aching wound in my side threatening to kill me itself.

I began to come to terms with death. My eyes were starting to give out on me and I was almost positive I wouldn't feel my leg in the morning at the extent I had pushed it. My luck had run out and skill could only take me so far, despite the many years of training I had endured.

I wasn't going to sit there and wait for death to come to me, however. That would be rather boring and I'd rather limp my way into a posse of goons than put a bullet in my brain, waiting for something that I might have a small chance of avoiding. A slim chance is always better than none.

Speaking of the devil, a posse of goons was exactly what I walked into. The sky was already darkening and there was one, maybe two hours of light left at the most. Enough to see my hand in front of my face, but not enough to find cover while surrounded by monsters trying to tear you apart and pick their bones from their teeth.

I buried the blade of my dagger into the eye socket of the closest goon. There were about a dozen of them, probably more that I couldn't see. They were scattered, thank heaven, and not all had noticed my presence.

Then my heart skipped a beat. Maybe my luck hadn't run out. Ahead of me peeked double rows of chain link fences. Beyond them loomed a dark, ominous building I could only presume to be the prison.

Ignoring the searing pain shooting through my leg, I started to run. If I had been in peak condition I could've made it to the fences in mere seconds, but I hadn't been in that state for a long time and I was surrounded by goons wanting to eat me. I buried my blade into another skull and pushed the body aside. More had noticed me and had started wobbling their way to where I stood, but all I could think of was getting to the other side of those fences. If there were stragglers I could pick them off, somewhere even remotely safe to stay for the night was suitable for my condition.

My speed picked up. I had to get there before the goons bore upon me, and there was no way I could let that happen with refuge being so close in front of me. I could almost touch it.

There was a figure standing on the other side. At first I thought it was a walker, but it just stood there, not moving.

"Hey…" I called out, my voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible. "Hey!" I called again, managing to get it loud enough I was sure the figure heard me.

The moaning of the goons became louder as I finally reached the fence. Another figure appeared next to the first.

"Open the gate," the command came out of my mouth before I could think of what I was saying. "Open it, _please_…" This place was my last hope. If I couldn't get on the other side of this fence _now, _I was goon dinner. Their groans only became louder as they came closer and I let go of the fence only to silence the moans of a goon ready to tear into my shoulder. I heard voices, human voices, coming from the two figures, but the hungry calls of the goons behind me silenced any hope of me hearing what they were saying. The voices stopped but the figures didn't move to help me. If anything, the first figure turned around and the other figure followed suit. It was then I realized they weren't going to help me, if I wanted to live I'd have to save myself.

I kicked a goon away and pulled myself up the fence. Small feet gave me an advantage as the toe of my shoes slipped easily through the gaps. The only drawback I had was the river of blood and severe pain emanating from my side. I was positive I just ripped whatever mend it had formed since I had cleaned it, but right now safety was my number one concern. If I lived past this night I could clean it in the morning.

I clamped my jaw tightly on the collar of my jacket to stifle the cries of pain that threatened to escape as I pulled myself further and further up the fence. The goons could no longer reach my boots, but one misstep and I was a late night snack for them for sure. The barbed wire at the top dug into my hands as I pulled myself up the final stretch. Any normal person would think I've lost my mind, climbing over prison walls that have the sole purpose of keeping that from happening. Perhaps I have, fear and pain do scary things to people.

By now darkness had fully come upon us and I was struggling for a good hold on the other side of the fence. At last I was able to link my fingers through the holes, too high for the goons to reach, and prepared to jump to the other side. I was now positive I'd lost my mind, but at this moment I had nothing to lose. It was either fall to your imminent death of consumption by walking corpses, or fall and grasp to the slim chance of not dying. I chose the latter, and jumped. My boots hit the ground first, but my leg finally betrayed me and I collapsed on the hard ground. My head hit it hard, and the last I remember was thinking _I could've sworn I'd left the goons behind_, when I felt a pair of hands grasp my shoulders.

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**A/N: For any of my readers that follow my Assassin's Creed fanfic, Queen of Hearts, don't get your feathers ruffled and _expect an update soon._****:)**

**R+R is great, constructive criticism is my sole desire in life. **

**With much love, ~Tiny.**


	2. Holiday

**A/N: Thank you to those who followed and reviewed. It's very appreciated! You guys are awesome. Continue to review and leave advice and/or constrictive criticism! It's all welcome!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any of the characters in the TV show. I only own my character, her story line and the idea for her story line. Everything unfamiliar to the show was created by my own mind**

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_"We could get into serious trouble for this."_

_My eyes took in every corner of the empty hallway before I felt comfortable passing through it unseen. I turned the corner and bent down so I couldn't be seen from the windows above. Stepping forward cautiously, I slunk along the walls as quietly as possible, my partner following suit. _

_"Not if we don't get caught."_

_We approached a set of tall double doors standing at the end of the hallway. As I was the only one that was unperturbed and not paranoid about someone finding us, I suggested to my companion that she keep watch while I took on the task of getting us to where we were headed. _

_"What if we do get caught?"_

_I chose to ignore her for the moment while I concentrated on picking the lock. A bobby pin and a set of tweezers did the trick, and within moments the door clicked open. _

_"We __**will **__get caught if you keep talking."_

_I stepped aside for her to enter first. Pulling out a roll of duct tape, I quickly cut off a strip and applied it over the strike plate so the door wouldn't lock behind us and we'd have a way out. _

_"Are you dense? Someone will notice that."_

_I threw the roll of duct tape back into my bag and closed the door quietly. "Don't be daft. We won't be down there more than five minutes. And it's necessary unless you want to sleep here tonight."_

_"This is dumb." She frowned at me and threw down her bag. "We shouldn't have agreed to do this."_

_And I shouldn't have agreed to take her with me if I'd known she would be this annoying. I could've done this quicker by myself. I sent her a glare as I walked past and began descending the stairs behind her. "Suit yourself. I'm not going to be made a fool of and show them I don't have the guts just because you pissed your pants."_

_She huffed. "Why do you care what they think? Do you know what will happen if someone finds us?"_

_I rolled my eyes. "I __**don't **__care what they think. The only reason I'm doing this is so I don't have to put up with the older kid's shit next year. If we don't do this we'll always be referred to as the duo that couldn't complete their third echelon initiation." I turned to look up at her from where I stood at the base of the stairs. "And if someone does find us, there's no just punishment they could give. You know that." It was true. We wouldn't be deprived of our rations. Proper nourishment each day is necessary to complete our classes and by completing those classes, we become more and more useful to those in charge. The risks were too high for them to send us away. The worst they could do was beat us, and we were taught to resist pain, so it wouldn't make a difference. "If you're going back, fine. Toss me your bag. It has the rest of the stuff in it."_

_She stood there and stared at me instead of replying. Finally she huffed. Grabbing her bag, she bounded down the stairs. As she reached the bottom she looked me in the eyes and said, "You're a piece of shit."_

_I turned my back on her and began walking down the basement hallway. "That's still better than you on a good day."_

_Above our heads, the pounding of feet echoed through the basement. The single lamp swinging from the center of the ceiling shook with every thump. Several wrestling matches were taking place above our heads, and we were intending to cause a commotion. We walked in silence until we reached the end of the hall. Kneeling on the cement floor, I dumped my bag out and my companion did the same. We separated the contents into two piles, one for me and one for her. I pulled two lighters out of my pocket and tossed her one. "You take that end I'll take this one." _

_She nodded and took her place opposite from where I stood. I pulled the grate off an air vent leading to the room above and checked to make sure my partner was ready. When she gave the thumbs up, I grabbed a smoke bomb out of my bag, lit it, and tossed it into the vent._

I awoke to something cold pressed to my face. The first thing I noticed was the ghastly aching sensation that had taken over my head. When I first opened my eyes I was almost blinded with the bright light. A part of me was freaking out. I didn't know where I was, why the light was so bright, and if I was in danger. _Oh God, I'm dead. _I blinked rapidly to try and clear my blurry vision. Slowly my eyes became accustomed to the light, and it was only after I had rubbed the sleep out of them when I realized no one was blinding me; it was just the sun seeping through a small window. Then I realized there was no one here at all, I was completely alone.

I sat up slowly, my head throbbing and my eyes almost blind with stars. I gasped when I was fully seated and lowered my head into my hands. Memory of the previous day came to mind and exhaustion hit me with full force. At the moment, lying down and sleeping for the rest of my life sounded wonderfully appealing.

A damp cloth fell on my knees, and I realized that had been the coldness I had felt on my face. I carefully picked it up, my movements slow as to not induce another attack of head throbbing. Pressing it to my forehead, I felt the firm texture of a bandage on my hairline, just above my eyebrow. It occurred to me that must've been where I had hit my head the previous night as I jumped the fence to the prison.

The prison…someone had carried me into the building and given me a bed to rest in. Looking around to observe my surroundings for the first time, I took in a toilet, the bunk of the bed I was sitting on, and a small bookshelf no doubt bolted to the wall. The entrance was guarded by a steel grated door, bolted and locked securely. I stood and walked over to the door, grasping hold of it with one hand and observing everything in view that was on the other side. There wasn't much to see, just cement walls and a staircase leading downwards. Being held in a prison cell was a new experience for me. Anything illegal I'd ever done had never landed me in jail or even a police station. The government had me protected from the law, as long as I did what I was trained to do.

Footsteps pattered from beyond the hall, and I quickly retreated from the door to my small bunk in the corner. A shadow crossed the doorway, and following that shadow came a face and the rest of a body. The face and I examined each other for a moment. It belonged to an elderly man who had a kind disposition to him. Of course I never believed the first thing that came to mind about someone I had only just come into contact with. He carried crutches, and I noticed the absence of his right leg.

"I see you've finally decided to come to," he greeted. I said nothing in return, only giving him one slight nod.

"I'm the one that bandaged you up. You had a pretty nasty scrape on your leg there." He stepped forward a bit, his crutches tapping against the floor. "Want to tell me what happened?"

Not really. I didn't want to give any information out to someone I'd only been in the presence of for two minutes. I eyed him up and down. There seemed to be no aura of hostility around him, but I wasn't ready to tell him anything. After all, I'd come here looking for refuge and here I am, locked in a prison cell no doubt by him or any of the other people residing here as well. I stuck with saying nothing, sitting on the very edge of the bed ready to jump and run if needed, despite my earsplitting headache and a gash in my side.

The man sighed. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

He tapped his way out of my vision and somewhere down the hall. I wasn't sure if telling me to not go anywhere was his sense of humor or old age and the end of the world causing him to go a bit loopy. I hadn't held many conversations with the elderly. I sat idle, not sure what to do. He was undoubtedly telling the others I was awake. My bag was gone, I had noticed. Inside my bag were all my weapons and anything else I carried so I was now left defenseless. That was fine, I could fight my way out if my life depended on it. Or at least until I got my things back.

Footsteps sounded in the hall once again, and this time there was more than one pair. I got off my seat carefully to not stretch the wounds out even more, and stood. The person that appeared at the door wasn't the old man who had appeared earlier. It was a man who looked to be in his fifties, his scruffy beard probably making him look older than he really was. He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and stuck one in the keyhole. They jingled as he turned one in the lock and opened the door. As he stepped into the cell, two others appeared behind him, the old man and a man with long, stringy hair that looked like it could use a good shampooing. The one with the keys that had joined me in the cell returned the keys to his pocket and put one hand on the holster of a pistol strapped to his waist.

"We're only letting you stay 'til you're healed. As soon as you're stronger you're leaving."

"Who are you?" I asked, eyeing him. His squinty eyes darted everywhere and he shifted from foot to foot. I took him to be the one in charge with the way he walked with authority and acted as if he'd had this conversation before.

"I ask the questions around here." He put his hands on his hips and shifted relentlessly as if he had more important things to be doing instead of wasting his time on some girl. "Who are _you_?"

One thing I was never taught was humility. Where I grew up we always knew we were superior to others and our headmasters let it get to our heads. They didn't care, so why should we? "I asked you first." I stood up straighter and frowned. Just because this guy has me locked away doesn't mean he has me under his little finger, and he most certainly could _not _intimidate me merely because I was younger and a girl. He stared at me for a few moments before responding.

"I'm Rick. That's Daryl and Hershel." He pointed to the scruffy man and the old man in order before turning back to me. "Now it's your turn, who are you."

The way he said it was more of a command then a question. The question triggered the autopilot mode inside me and I started to say what they used to call me back before the outbreak. Then I paused. He was an outsider, I was supposed to act like them. I struggled to think of a normal name I could give him, but none came to mind. I had missed the last few years of training due to the outbreak, and in those years the social skills I needed to properly blend in. I had been silent long enough, any more and his suspicion would start to grow. So, I picked the first name that came to mind.

"Maria."

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**Review! ~Figment**


	3. Reminiscence

**A/N: Thank you to my reviewers and followers! You guys are great. This chapter is a bit shorter than the previous two, but I'll make it up to you with the next one. Thank you all^^**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or anything original to TWD story. I only own my character, her story and plotline and the idea for her story/background. Anything not in TWD belongs purely to my imagination.**

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_Chapter three: Reminiscence _

_Our heads knocked against each other's in the back of the small van. With every turn, bump and pothole we were tossed into the wall or someone's torso. Half of us had already gotten some ugly scrapes at the manhandling. The road had been long so far and no one had spoken since the commencement of the ride. My companions were distraught creatures, their condition was atrocious and their faces so desolate I might as well have tried to find amusement in a desert. _

_The van hit a bump and we all were all flung a foot out of our seats. A smaller girl, probably still in the first echelon, hit her forehead on a sharp bolt sticking out of the wall and started to bleed. Tears at once began to fall mercilessly down the side of her face. My heart took pity on her, and I would've reached out to comfort her if my hands hadn't been shackled behind my back. _

_"Shutup, you stupid little girl," a boy who wore on his coat the emblem of the fifth echelon hissed. "Wait until they drag us out of this car, you'll have a real reason to shed your tears then." He was interrupted by the rattling of the grated doors as the car went over a bump once more and we rolled about like cabbage. With hands bound and no means of elbow room, it was a hard struggle sitting oneself upright just to be thrown around once again. I had fallen on my side and bounced around with every jerk and rattle, the hard, coarse flooring digging into my eyebrow. _

_"Do you know what they'll do to you?" the boy continued to hiss at the poor bleeding girl who continued to cry at his tone of voice. "First, they'll rip you up and harvest all the little gold wires that string you up like a puppet. Then, they'll throw you down and ra—"_

_He was cut off again by the impact of my boots hitting his visage. There was one advantage to lying awkwardly on the cold floor; it gave me a perfect angle to kick him right in the center of his ugly face. He cried out and coughed, blood shooting from his nose and flowing into his mouth. As a field worker, my boots were tougher and more treaded than the others, granting me the ability to leave a nice impact on any surface I apply enough pressure to. With any luck, that boy's nose will never be that straight again. "You shut your filthy mouth," I jeered in his direction. If looks could kill, I would've been buried one hundred feet under last year by the look he sent my way. Luckily they weren't, and he kept silent. _

Rick and I maintained eye contact for a few moments after I had responded. His face was unreadable and prevented me from any idea of what he was thinking. Did he believe me, or was he going to kill me? He didn't strike me as someone to kill on a whim, but I've come to learn that people are never as they seem. He inhaled deeply and ran a hand across his face.

"How many walkers have you killed?"

I looked at him quizzically. Walkers? Is that what he called the goons? That's not very creative, he can surely think of a better name to call them by. I shifted my weight to my left foot and ran the numbers through my head.

"Four hundred twenty three."

Rick furrowed his brows and shuffled in his position. Somewhere behind him Daryl scoffed. I glanced back and forth between the two of them. The Daryl character leaned against the doorway to the cell, a piece of grass between his teeth, looking disdainfully irritated. "As if someone could remember n'exact number like that." My frown for him developed into a glare. There is a bounty of wrong deeds I can admit to doing and being a liar is not one of them. On second thought, perhaps it could.

"I do not appreciate being called a liar."

"No one's callin' you a liar," Rick intervened, sending Daryl a pointed look. The greasy haired man slunk back to where he stood in the hallway. Turning back to me, the ringleader asked, "How many people have you killed?"

I was afraid he would ask this question. My resolution to never tell a lie caught up with me. There was no way I would be able to answer this question truthfully without him thinking I was a sick psychopath and put a bullet in my brain right here and now. If I answered with honesty, he would start asking questions, more so than he already was. That was a possibility I could not risk.

"Four." It wasn't necessarily a lie. I had only killed four people since the outbreak, and since walkers had already been a topic of interest I just conveniently assumed we were still on board the apocalypse discussion.

Rick nodded slowly, as if I'd met his approval. He exhaled through his nose and said, "As soon as you're healed, you're gone."

I nodded in return. I could understand his proceeds for caution. I knew all too well that in this new world, one must fear the living as well as the dead. No one could be trusted.

He exited my cell and motioned for Daryl to close the door. Before he locked it, I raised my voice and asked, "Is there any possibility I could help around the camp?" Daryl ceased closing the door, his face turned towards his leader as he waited for a command. Although he was turned away, I could feel his eyes boring into my skull as if he was waiting for me to make a sudden move so he could end me right here. Rick turned around put a hand on the holster of his gun. "No. We don't know you."

"And I don't know you," I replied, leaning onto my good leg. "But you have custody of my weapons, _all of _my belongings, and I am no threat to anyone with a bad leg." I resisted the strong urge to grit my teeth as those words came from my mouth. "You took me in and mended my wounds; the least I could do to repay you is help with anything I am able before I am healed enough to leave."

It was a good enough argument I had to admit. A traveler that just wanted to repay a stranger's kindness. It was a good façade, so good perhaps I should mark it down as a lie for I've been saying much of them in the past twenty minutes. '_No threat with a bad leg'_ my ass. If that wasn't the biggest lie I have ever told then cage me up and let ravens pick out my eyeballs. Or perhaps it was just my mind brainwashing me to think like a pretentious snob.

"I'll think about it," was all Rick said before the door was locked and the old man pattered behind Rick with Daryl in tow like a string of ducklings following their mother. _Following and obeying one man without question is pathetic_, I thought as I watched them leave. Then as I retreated into the shadows of my small prison cell I realized that if that occurred to me as the most pathetic thing I'd seen in a long while, I was perhaps the biggest hypocrite on the face of the earth.

The cement wall felt cool on my back as leaned against it. The prison beds weren't nearly as comfortable as the ones back home, but one would never hear me utter a complaint.

On a whim, I took off my shoe and rolled up the leg of my jeans. My cream colored skin clashed with the purple and red hues of the half circularly shaped scar around my ankle. As my finger traced along the indents and bumps of the scar tissue I thought, _I never knew human teeth could do something like that._

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**I'm not hating on any of the characters by dissing on them and calling them names in 'Maria's point of view. It is purely for character and story development. I love all the characters and happen to think they're all pretty badass so I personally think none of them are pathetic. And my character's a bit stuck up for her own good, I think. But that's the way I've decided to write her so please try not to get too frustrated and write hateful reviews/messages when she acts like a dick. Thannnkss.**

**~Figment**


	4. Cattle Driving

**A/N: I'm a bittcch. Sorry. I don't think its any secret by now that i'm not very diligent at updating anything on a regular basis. What can I say, life's hella busy. I read the first three chapters of this story for the first time in almost a year earlier today and I was like 'damn i need to keep writing this'. It's an intense plot down the road, i'm just saying. Anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter, review and tell me what you think. ~**

**Disclaimer: I do not own TWD or any of it's characters, I only own my character and everything alien to the TV show or comic books. **

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_Chapter four: Cattle Drivers_

_The paper I was sitting on did nothing to keep the coolness of the metal table from seeping into my skin. It crinkled underneath my thighs as I swung my legs back and forth under the table. The doctor had a jar of suckers on the table across from me and I wanted one. He'd said I would get one if I behaved well through the procedure and didn't fuss or wiggle or give them any problems. I was hell bent on being a good child, I really was, but life didn't work for me like that. _

_He'd turned around for a moment to clean the needle before he put it back into the ink, and a moment was all I needed. I launched myself off the table like a human cannon ball and grabbed the jar of suckers and brought it down on the floor with a smash. I reached down and grabbed a handful of the sweets and shards of glass and bolted out the door at top speed. _

_They found me ten minutes later, sitting at the dining table in my booster seat with six suckers in my mouth and a Niagara Falls of blood and ink seeping out of my arm. _

I rolled out of bed the next morning at the first sound of metal clanking. It took me by surprise at first, cause for the first ten seconds of consciousness I forgot where I was again. Because of that my stupid adrenaline kicked in and I stood up way faster than I should have, sending my vision on a space trip through the Milky Way galaxy. Rick was standing at the entrance to my cell, and the clanking noise I heard had been his keys unlocking the door. He swung it open with one fluid arm motion and with his body he blocked the doorway, the stringy haired grease job called Daryl slouching behind him like a pet monkey.

"You can help out, but only on a few things here and there. No weapon handling or dealin' with the food." He shifted his weight like he'd done about twenty times the day before. I was beginning to think he wasn't very comfortable in a single position for longer than thirty seconds. I almost snorted. I'd forgotten how different normal people were. We had been trained to stay in a single position for hours if needed. I remember being locked in a cupboard for twenty four hours at a time on one occasion. Albeit in some cases it did cause claustrophobia, and those 'special cases' were sent off to who knows where to finish their training in some other sect. The majority of us were able to withstand it, however.

"Sound good?"

It sounded like a trick question. Was I supposed to delight in chores? Do normal people do that? My line of work was very different.

Maybe I was just paranoid.

"Sounds great."

Rick seemed pleased with my answer and nodded. He turned and motioned me to follow him into the hall, which I did, but the look Daryl sent me as I walked past him was almost as bad as if I had just thrown a litter of kittens into a river. The urge to stick my tongue out at him was just about irresistible, but I had to remember I was not in fact five years old and I begrudgingly turned my back on him.

"Carol said she had some things she could use help with today. She's the one at the table," Rick turned down the stairs and pointed at a group of people on the farther side of the room. A tall, older woman who looked to be in her forties turned and saw us coming down the stairs. She smiled at Rick and waved, but when her eyes passed over me her mouthed narrowed into a thin line. Her obvious dislike for my presence didn't faze me; I didn't need this group's approval. I just needed their ignorance so I could stay here until my leg was healed. I could travel with it in its current condition no problem, but it would certainly be more difficult and my body was still exhausted.

A small bleating sound came from behind me. It was quiet but distinct, almost like that of a small goat. A girl cooed, and I turned to my right, expecting some kind of petting zoo set up for business in one of the cells. Instead of smelly animals and a bunch of hay there was a girl in a yellow sweater shushing a crying baby and patting it on the back. I blinked. I hadn't seen a baby in a long time. A very long time. Like thirteen, fourteen years long time. I'd almost forgotten that they were a real thing. And they were so _tiny._

"Maria."

It took me a minute to realize Carol had been trying to get my attention by saying my name, or my assumed name or title or whatever. If I was going to respond to this word from now on, I needed to start doing exactly that and start responding before their underwear gets ruffled and they get all suspicious and start demanding answers like they were even halfway intimidating.

"There's a water pump out back, I could use some help filling up these jugs and carrying them back here if you'd like," She said, holding out a plastic gallon jug. I slowly took it from her. Was this another trick question? Was she being unnecessarily polite because that's just what she was, polite, or was she trying to see if I'd decline to help and go sit around? Which I wouldn't no matter how worn out I was. Prolonged idleness gave me anxiety and made me restless. She gave me a half smile and turned. I assumed she expected me to follow her, and since I had no idea where this water pump was I figured it'd be the best thing to do.

The pump wasn't that far away. It was around the corner from the C block building we were staying in and across the courtyard. I noticed on more than one occasion I passed Carol and had to slow my pace for her to catch up again. I wasn't a very tall person, my legs weren't exceptionally long, but I couldn't tell if I was just a fast walker or Carol was a slow one.

It didn't take us long to fill up the water jugs. There was four total and I was bent over setting the rim of the last jug under the nozzle when Carol opened her mouth.

"That's an interesting tattoo."

I froze. I'd thought my sleeve would cover it, but it must've rolled up when I bent over. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. _I yelled at myself internally. I should've been more careful. The last thing I wanted was another reason to lie to these people.

"Thanks," I replied as I stood up, wiping my hands on my jeans.

"Why'd you get it? A number like that is kindof unusual."

In her world I guess it would be. In my world it was more common than BO and fist fights. Everyone minus the bossy big wigs in lab coats had one of their own numbers. It was how they identified us. Our core number, they called it. It showed them what echelon and sect we belonged to. After I'd become more informed of the ways of the common world, I'd realized it was also a form of identification that farmers used with cattle, or that others used to brand their property.

"I wanted to show people they didn't own me. Only I own me, and I can do whatever I want with myself. That sort of thing." I let out a weak chuckle. I was pretty sure I'd just broken my own record for the biggest lie I could tell about myself. If that wasn't any more opposite than the truth then tie me up and screw me sideways. On the other hand, in little less than ten hours I'd four times successfully lied to these people about major things that could potentially get me killed and I was getting good at it. I'd applaud myself later.

"Same with this one." I held out my left arm where right above my wrist was a purple and blue cloudy smudge in the shape of an arrow with a black line straight down the middle pointing towards my elbow. That was lie number five, it wasn't actually a tattoo at all. Each one of us was injected with one when we began our training. It was a tracking device, their way to find us. It made hide and seek much easier than necessary, and deserting absolutely impossible. When everything was normal before the world went to pot, it would blink, signifying that it was functioning properly and my coordinates were being recorded. The servers have long been long down by now and any chance of it working how it should at this point was next to impossible. A good thing for that too, if it was doing that now I would have a much harder time explaining to these people why my arm would sporadically flash yellow light.

Carol hummed and nodded. She was clearly not very interested, and I couldn't blame her. These made lame tattoos, even I knew that. I grabbed the now brimming water jug and screw the cap to the top. Together we made our way back to the C block. One of the former inmates, Oscar, was there waiting for Carol and after dropping off our jugs of water, they walked off together mumbling something about fires and pregnant people. I was unsure of what to do now, the person I was supposed to be helping had walked off with no other word to me and I was alone in a world of strangers. The weather was enjoyable I supposed, and there were others outside, so I nimbly sat down on a crate outside the door to C block. A little dude in a sheriff's hat stood a few yards away from me, talking with a burly black dude in a beanie. Occasionally they'd look over where I was sitting, and then turn back around once they realized I was watching them stare. Finally the short one decided I wasn't menacing and approached where I sat and without an invitation, plopped his bum on the crate next to me.

"Hey. I'm Carl."

I slowly turned my head to look at him. I automatically assumed the hat belonged to someone else, it kept falling over his eyes and it looked far too big for his head. Which was abnormally large in comparison to the rest of his body.

"Hey little man."

We sat like that in silence for about five minutes, and then he began asking questions. And if there's one thing I hate in the world more than clam chowder and wet underwear, its nosy people. I didn't think he meant anything wrong by asking, but then again he could be working for one of the others here, like the furry Rick dude or the Daryl person who looked like he didn't know that soap and running water had been invented. He asked innocent questions at first, like what I did for fun before the outbreak, my favorite places to visit, if I'd had any pets. And I of course, being the uninteresting abnormal human being I am, replied most of his questions with 'nothing' or 'no'. Then he took me by surprise and asked me something I wasn't quite prepared to answer.

"So, before the Turn," he said, scratching his nose. "Did you ever want to just take the easy way out?"

I almost choked on my own spit. "That's a bit dark for someone your age, isn't it?"

He scratched his nose again. "Maybe before, but not now. I've seen a lot of shit."

I blinked, not really comprehending that I'd just heard an eight year old say 'shit'. "What are you, like six years old?"

"Twelve."

Okay so I was a few years off, no big deal. Forensic psychology wasn't my major.

"Well, did you?"

I stared past him. Children made me uncomfortable. They were so helpless and always needed somebody to do something for them and never really understood the weight of the problems and horrors in the world. Naivety annoyed me.

"No, not that I can remember."

"Well that's good." He was silent for a couple minutes and he swung his legs, hitting his feet against the crate. On the other side of the courtyard Rick sashayed out from the inside of the building, a hand on his holster and the other rubbing his beard while he called out Carl's name.

"I gotta go. Talk to you later." He darted off in a hurry, pushing the sheriff's hat from out of his eyes with one hand and pulling up his pants with the other.

I took a deep breath.

Lying to a child would surely be the reason I'd go to hell.

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**A/N: Review and tell me what you think? (Or yell at me for not updating. Either one works.) ~ Figment**


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